Child-free Manifesto? God had other plans

I was one of them.

Married, successful, by worldly standards, and perfectly happy to not have children.

I spoke these words loudly to anyone who would listen.

My husband agreed.

We raced bicycles all around the country as a hobby.

How would children fit into this lifestyle?

We were having so much fun.

Though we attended church and took our lessons at Engaged Encounter seriously, we thought we didn’t think a commitment to the church had to mean having children.

We reasoned that if God really wanted us to be parents, we’d give Him enough room to make it happen. But we weren’t actively pursuing babies.

There has been a spate of studies, books and commentary, most recently this New York Times article, echoing what I said many times all those years ago.

Watching the parents hovering over precariously propped one-year-olds at Pinteresty, decorated birthday parties, seeing harried mothers chasing after their toddlers at the zoo, hearing the horrific stories people tell about their teenagers—the slammed doors, the attitude of entitlement, the binge drinking—is enough to make someone who might be uncertain whether or not they desire children run the other way.

I sat securely in the box with those who liked their “child-free” lifestyle.

And then, one cold December night about five years into our marriage, everything changed.

We were on vacation visiting my parents halfway across the country from where we lived. During two days in the car, my husband and I talked easily and enjoyed one another’s company.

We laughed and fussed over our mutt, Riley, who had a tendency to get motion sickness during long drives. Our bikes strapped to the top of our Toyota, it seemed there wasn’t an adventure on the planet we wouldn’t have together.

After we arrived at my grandparent’s home, which had been passed to my parents, I stayed up late talking with my mother.

“It is too bad you’re not interested in becoming a mother,” she said, gently, careful to share her feelings without sliding into toxic judgment. “You and David have so much to give.”

I, just as gently, defended my decision not to actively pursue parenthood and went to bed.

Pulling up the covers, I looked out the window at the stars and thought about my grandfather, who often slept in this very room.

And then I heard it—the voice of God, which I now know isn’t one that you hear with your ears.

For me, it involved a seismic movement of my soul, as if a giant magnet hovered above my body and pulled at me.

The message was simple, clear, and it was as if my every cell recognized the language and reorganized around this clear mission: You must have a baby.

Several years ago, I wrote a profile of Mother Teresa and marveled at her description of launching her ministry after having a similar moment on a train in the middle of India.

Now, I totally get it.

The next day, I awoke, reborn.

I was to become a mother.

My subsequent challenge was talking to my husband about this new calling, which shattered every dream and goal we had set for ourselves. I wasn’t at all concerned with that, but would he be willing to leave it all behind to follow me on this new trek?

Good thing we had two days in the car on the way home for me to make my case. Though I fretted at what this might do to our marriage, there was also a radiant peace within my soul that helped me believe that my husband wouldn’t abandon me and that God would carry us swiftly into this brand new, promised land.

The rootedness of our Catholic marriage made it possible for me to hear the voice of God and, knowing that both of us were committed to loving each other no matter what, I was able to speak candidly with my husband about following a new vocation.

In my mid-thirties, I knew that fertility wasn’t a given. A wise friend told me that the decision to become a mother always leads to the baby, even if that journey, sometimes through adoption or becoming foster parents, is labyrinthine.

A few weeks later, I had a strong and strapping, lentil-sized son sleeping in my belly.

By my side, my husband was steadfast, as he scrambled to learn about the next 35 weeks and a whole lifetime that seemed so foreign to what he’d always envisioned for himself.

Now, when I see these manifestos about the child-free life, I catch glimpses of myself and feel great compassion for these people, who are often called selfish and shallow.

They are misunderstood.

Maybe they just haven’t been listening to God.

Watching parents raise their children from afar as the basis for a decision not to have them is a bit like watching scuba divers from the shore as the basis for a decision not to go diving.

On land, the divers march awkwardly, lifting their flippers above the sand and rocks. The sound of their breath being sucked in and out is disturbing. They seem as if they are adding unnecessary stress to their Earthly existence. And what is up with the ridiculous tanks? Aren’t they a bit too heavy for anyone to consider wearing them for an hour?

But to slip down into the ocean, supported by countless gallons of clear, cool waves, the dazzling coral returning the sun’s light beneath a hundred hues of fish that dart and dive?

It’s spectacular.

Want to know for sure? Jump in.

Parenting, likewise, cannot be summed up from the outside.

Yes, there are plenty of obnoxious birthday parties and the nights can get late. There will be disagreements and plenty of chasing in those early years.

No, there aren’t many spontaneous trips to Europe—or even the beach—without snacks, sunscreen, strollers, seats, towels, floaties, umbrellas, playpens and wet wipes.

But the joy of seeing your baby smile for the first time is so strong, it bubbles up, years later, at the oddest moments, with a ferocity that will last long after the baby has packed up and gone to college.

The journey a couple takes together just to birth that baby is more intense, I would argue, than anything Lewis and Clarke might tackle.

The questions from a six-year-old’s lips are deep and require parents to be, at once, scholars and theologians.

Kids are the best professors in life’s most enduring lessons. They raise the parents just as much as the parents raise them. The good news? God gives you all what you need to make it, each day, every day.

There is a reason, after all, why God chose the family as His vehicle for coming to Earth.

For the first five years of our marriage, my husband and I thought that children would get in the way of our adventures.

In reality, the two of them have become our adventure. And what a satisfying trip it has been.